


Stay

by amyNY



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 14:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10414302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyNY/pseuds/amyNY
Summary: He was standing right before her, closer than ever and she never felt further away, not even when he looked at her and said 'Sorry about dinner'. That hurt but in different ways, this was so much worse – this was him giving up. Post 2x03.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small post Reichenbach drabble, a transfer from my ff.net account.

-00-

As soon as she heard the news she grabbed her phone and typed out a massage:

**Faking your own death is so last season. Let's have dinner.**

Casual. Confident. A lie.

She pressed send and tried to convince herself she really didn't hope for an answer. It was a mistake to send anything - an instant reaction before she's had time to think. She regretted it immediately. He never replied anyway so why would now be any different? But surely even he wouldn't be as cruel as not to type up a single word, just to assure her.

Time passed and no answer came and her hope kept shrinking until it was a thin little thread she barely held on to. Still being Irene Adler she continued with her business as usual, changed her place of residence ever so often just to be certain no one could find her. Everything changed but her leaping on her feet every time a phone rang, every time a signal for a new message appeared on the screen.

It was never him of course.

A few more messages were sent and she was slowly turning into one of those foolish women, so much so that in a particular moment of vulnerability she rarely allowed herself she sent out one last message that simply said **'Please.'**

There was no confidence there, no hidden meanings, and no disguises. For once - the truth.

-00-

He walked into her life, the calm before the storm.

There was a knock.

She stood frozen in the middle of her living room, eyes on the door, unable to move. No one knew where she lived, her newest residence was top secret - even her personal assistant didn't know the address until a week ago so it was safe to say she did a good job with that one. Or so she believed. Undoubtedly she has taken every possible precaution, the location was impossible to find. There was only one person that could and that person has jumped of off a roof almost six long months ago.

Or so everyone else thought, except for her (but only by an inch).

But until this moment, this knock, she did everything she could to smoother that last glimmer of hope, that foolish thought in the back of her head with everything she had. Of course she wasn't that much of a fool to believe any of the constant media titles, the constant bombarding with lies and half-truths, including the worst one – that he has committed suicide.

She took a moment to compose herself and eyed the purse on the table by the door that held a gun she was forced to buy after the last attempt on her life. Right now it would do her little good – the enemy she was fighting could not be killed off that easily, being much stronger than that – her own heart.

A soft click. The brief crackling sound and there he was - the same dark coat, a perfectly tailored suit and those same piercing grey eyes that could read her so easily it scared her. From the distance he didn’t appear much different - it was as if no time has passed, but you could read every single day, every single year on his face, in his eyes – the darker shade dominated the bright blue much more, she wasn’t sure was it because of the dark circles under them or something more, inside.

There was an unusual sort of sharpness about his features, not just the cheekbones, the eyes too, a certain somberness from which you could tell he has spent a lot of time without seeing a friendly face, surrounded by not so very nice people, that he's almost forgotten how to be human – John always helped with that, reminded him when he became too focused on the intrigue and the practicalities of a case, just like Mrs. Hudson and even Lestrade. She had no credit there and it hurt a little that she wasn't the one that could soften those features, uncover those layers hidden beneath.

Still right now the knowledge that she mattered enough for him to turn to when he needed help would have to be enough, even if it was only because he could turn to no one else.

He stepped closer and raised a hand to touch her cheek, wipe away the tear that fell without notice, his long fingers cold against her feverish skin. They stood uncharacteristically close, his eyes searching for hers intentionally. He was surprised by her reaction- he never though her to be the type. Obviously she has disappointed him with that, but some things she just couldn't control, especially when he’s caught her unprepared. He could see her clearly now and she let him, too tired to hide any longer but she couldn't read him at all. He was standing right before her, closer than ever and she’s never felt further away, not even when he looked at her and said 'Sorry about dinner'. That hurt but in different ways, this was so much worse – this was him giving up.

He looked tired and weary and lost - a man without a home and more importantly when it came to him – a purpose. She could offer him a home but it would never be Baker Street, they both knew that much. Still he didn't step back, didn't say a word.

"Never thought I'd see you here," she admitted and it was the truth, but there was a part left unspoken – she was afraid she’d never see him at all.

"It's not like I had a lot of choice as I'm sure you've figured out by now."

"What about Mycroft?"

"Far too complicated," he dismissed the idea quickly.

"And this isn't?" she countered.

"I didn't feel like owing him another favor."

She wanted to laugh at that - some things truly never changed.

"So that's what this is about, you coming to collect on what I owe you?"

"If you wish to see it that way."

"You should at least tell him you're alive."

"He knows," he said, for once not in a hurry to offer explanations, uncover a mystery.

"How could he-"

"As much as it saddens me to admit we do share the same genes Miss Adler."

"Of course."

And that's all he said on that matter.

"Now if we're done here I'd like to take a shower and get some sleep if it's not too much to ask," he said, more of a statement than a question.

"So this makes us even then?" she asked instead, watching him take off his coat and throw it on the couch, thinking back to the night in Karachi.

He chose to ignore her, looking around her apartment, no doubt deducing where the bathroom is. He never liked to be kept waiting.

"May I?" he asked.

"You may." It's a game with them.

"Dinner?" she asked.

"Not hungry, just tired."

And with that he disappeared down the hallway.

He left two weeks later. No goodbye, just a note on the table, unsigned-

'I talked to M. You are free to go wherever you want. You owe me one.'

Well, she’d have to figure out a way to repay it, she imagined, taking the note to her lips as they curved into a teasing smile.

A day later she left too.


End file.
